


The Beginning Of The End

by acornsandarrows



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornsandarrows/pseuds/acornsandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t supposed to see anyone except for Teresa, Aris and Rachel. And for a while, that was enough. The four were close. They developed bonds quickly, mainly due to their situation, but they were strong bonds nonetheless; Thomas was happy for a time. Working to save the world with his three best friends around him? What could be better?</p>
<p>Until he saw the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning Of The End

**Author's Note:**

> guest editor: my regular editor tac masquerading as a guest editor

He wasn’t supposed to see anyone except for Teresa, Aris and Rachel. And for a while, that was enough. The four were close. They developed bonds quickly, mainly due to their situation, but they were strong bonds nonetheless; Thomas was happy for a time. Working to save the world with his three best friends around him? What could be better?

Until he saw the others.

The ‘official experiment’ was a few years off, maybe two. Thomas knew everything about it, he’d studied it constantly during his time with WICKED, but he didn’t realise they already had the rest of the participants. But there they were, on the other side of the thick white door. He could hear them talking and laughing, already coming together as one group.

He peeked through the glass, watching them eating until he felt someone’s hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned to face one of the scientists, trying and failing not to flush guiltily.

“What’re you doing, Thomas?”

“Just coming to see the other participants. I was wondering if, uh, I could talk to them?” he asked, trying to sound curious in a strictly professional way and not in a quiet, lonely way.

“No, I don’t think that’s advisable,” they said, steering him away from the well-lit dining hall. “You’ll meet them when it’s your time. You know the procedure.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He was taken to his own room, then left there. It was hardly bigger than a closet; its only purpose was to provide him with a place to sleep. All his time was otherwise spent in the unforgiving light of the lab. He waited until the lights of the corridor clicked out, then pulled open the door and peered out of his room. It was silent in the large building except for slight draughts of wind that hissed up and down the long hallways and rattled the window panes.

He’d begun his night-time wanderings a few years ago. At first he was doing it out of curiosity, then simply because it provided him with a way to be in his own company, going where he wanted and doing what he chose.

He crept past numerous locked doors, a lone figure jarring the thick moonlight streaming in from the windows. His head was low. He kept his gaze on the ground, a method he’d trialled and deemed the most efficient at getting around after hours. It had surprised him at first that not watching where he was going was the better option than constantly keeping an eye out, but he’d realised soon that though radical in their work most people in WICKED kept within the appointed schedule. That meant they had to be in their rooms by 10pm if they wanted the minimum amount of recommended sleep. Keeping his head down meant he harder to spot if someone was looking, and it allowed him to move swiftly through the building.

It made it a lot harder, however, to avoid crashing into other people wandering the building after hours. He was knocked back onto the cold floor, and for a second he lay on the ground in surprise.

“Watch where you’re bloody goin’,” someone hissed. Thomas clambered to his feet, gazing at the person he’d walked into. He felt a jolt in his chest when they stepped into a flow of moonlight. It was one of the other participant children. They had soft blonde hair, evidently sleep-rumpled, and they were scowling. “Who’re you?”

“Uh. Tom. Thomas. You?”

“You’re one of them scientists, aren’t you?”

“What?”

They nodded to themselves, then reached forward and hit Thomas. He fell backwards again, only this time he didn’t get up. He simply lay there and watched as the other turned to leave. They glanced back over their shoulder, their face dark. Thomas thought they were going to speak, but in the end they shrugged, and left.     

//

“How’d that happen?” Teresa nodded at Thomas’ bruised cheek. He raised a hand absently, pressing his fingertips against the hot skin, and shrugged.

“Hit my face on the side of the bed this morning.”

He wasn’t sure where the desire to cover up for the kid came from, but he didn’t have time to tell her the truth anyway. Soon he was being ushered out the door and back to his regular place in the laboratory.

He was pre-occupied all throughout the day; only one thing seemed important to him. Find the person from the previous night talk to him. He fidgeted at his table until he was dismissed, and ran to his bedroom.

That night he stayed up almost till the light of dawn spilled over the window sills and washed down the corridors, but he didn’t see them again.

Over the next few weeks the bruise faded from purple to a pale discoloration of the skin, but the image of the person he’d met stayed fresh in his mind. Thomas became curious about them, who they were, to the point of obsession and his friends noticed. When they asked about it, he simply said he was looking forward to meeting the other participants. Teresa made a joke about how “What, you sick of us already?” and they all laughed. Thomas felt himself ease a little. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He had these three wonderful friends anyway. So what if this strange blonde kid hated him? (It did matter. He wasn’t sure why, but it did.)

He’d almost given up on seeing them again until the official meet up when one night, while making his way through the main hall, he saw a tall blonde person disappearing around a corner. His heart jerked in his chest and he hissed out:

“Hey!”

The kid didn’t re-appear. Thomas ran swiftly after them, turning the corridor, and followed him deeper into the building.

“Hey!” Thomas called again, slightly louder. The kid spun on their heel so fast Thomas jumped backward a little.

“What do you want?” they asked tersely. Thomas opened his mouth to say something probably sarcastic, but instead what came out was:

“I want to know why you hate me so much.”

He felt just as surprised as the other kid looked. They shook their head and shrugged.

“You got all bloody night?” they asked brusquely, and before Thomas could say anything, they walked swiftly away.

//

“You ready to meet the others, Tom?” Teresa asked, tilting forward on her heels slightly and glancing around at him. Thomas’ blood pounded in his ears. He felt his stomach churning, but he managed a smile for his best friend.

“You bet. Ready to get away from you guys.”

Aris laughed, and Rachel reached over and swatted Thomas on the arm.

“Speak for yourself, Thomas,” Teresa smirked, folding her arms. “Bet you won’t last a day without me. How’re you gonna cope in the Maze?”

The others grinned, and Thomas rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets to hide their shaking.

A familiar, white-clad scientist appeared in the doorway next to the small group, and beckoned to them.

“It’s time,” they said. “Thomas and Teresa are to accompany me to meet Group A, Aris and Rachel, you will wait to be taken to Group B.” Aris nodded, and the scientist turned, steering Thomas and Teresa to a larger room with blue walls and two large windows. Thomas peered anxiously at the kids gathered in front of him. He found Teresa’s hand, and when he gripped it in his own she didn’t say anything.

“Group B, meet Thomas and Teresa. Please step forwards and introduce yourselves.”

It was an incredibly uncomfortable meeting, Thomas thought. The boys stepped forward and introduced themselves, some surly, some indifferent, and in the case of his Mystery Boy, with barely suppressed aggression.

That night in bed he tested out the name ‘Newt’ on his tongue and imagined meeting him in a world where Newt’s eyes didn’t burn with anger.

The following day, when they were brought together with the other kids again and left to their own devices, Newt sought Thomas out.

“You,” he said, “why didn’t you bloody turn me in for punching your buggin’ face? What are you plannin’?”

“I… nothing?” Thomas watched him warily. Newt scowled and shook his head.

“You shoulda told someone. I beat you up and you let it slide?”

“Well to be fair you didn’t really beat me up. You just hit me in the face and left,” Thomas said reasonably. Newt raised an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for another hit, _Tommy_?”

For some reason, Thomas didn’t mind the nickname.

//

Every evening since the first meet up, the WICKED officials would gather the participants together in the main conference room to watch the news. Possibly as incentive to not lose focus on the experiment, possibly to allow the participants to keep up to date with how the outside world was faring. Thomas never knew, but he felt that whatever the reason it was cruel.

Every week the reporters would list people who were missing, or give fatality statistics. All in all, it wasn’t really morale-boosting stuff.

Especially one particular broadcast where the reporter finished the news by saying, “…and we regret to inform you that flare shockwaves, which are still a threat in some parts of Europe, razed a small town in Western Sussex last night. Not a single citizen from Crawley survived, and people all over the country are mourning the loss of yet more lives in what is undoubtedly the worst natural disaster humanity has ever seen. And now, the weather.”

There was a strangled yell from the crowd gathered around the TV. Thomas saw Newt with a hand over his mouth. Several other boys raised their hands, obviously meaning to comfort him, but he shook them away, taking his hand from his mouth and instead clenching it into a fist by his side.           

“You know the curfew,” said one of the ever apathetic WICKED officials, and began to herd them out of the room.   

Thomas didn’t even try to sleep that night. As soon as the lights clicked off in the corridor, he almost sprinted out, skidding to a halt in the middle of the moonlit hall. There was no question in his mind as to what he was doing, but there was no fully formed plan either. He had no idea if Newt would even be roaming the corridors this evening.

He started to move again, this time at a brisk walk. His feet took him in no particular direction until he heard a soft whimper. He ducked down into the shadows, glancing around to see who it was making the noise.

Down a windowless passageway he could see a glint of sun-coloured hair. Newt’s height was being folded in upon itself, his face resting on his knees, his body shaking. Thomas hesitated, realising that he was quite possibly the last person Newt wanted to see, before sliding over to the other boy and squatting next to him. His hand pressed down on the ground for balance.

They sat in silence for a while, Newt giving no sign he even knew Thomas was beside him until he gave a hiccupping breath, and peered around at him.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he said, his usual aggressiveness marred by the scratchy quality of his voice and the tears still clinging to his cheeks. Thomas shrugged.

“Just. Y’know. Squatting.”

Newt made a strange noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and Thomas looked away.

“I’ll go if you want,” he mumbled, staring at the wall opposite him. Newt said nothing, and Thomas felt something brush against the hand he’d pressed against the floor. Cautiously he twisted it around. Fingers wrapped around his own, hesitantly at first, then with a vice-like grip.

He didn’t move, he simply sat there, glaring at the wall, while Newt clutched his hand as though it was a lifeline and cried so hard Thomas could feel his arms shaking. When morning came, Newt stood sharply, withdrawing his hand from Thomas’ and walked off without a word. Thomas felt the cold air rush in where warmth had been and rubbed the red marks where Newt’s nails had dug into him.

//

“I s’pose I owe you an explanation.”

Thomas fell over. Someone laughed quietly, and the next thing he knew Newt was leaning down, his hand outstretched. Thomas took it, albeit apprehensively.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said as soon as he was standing, watching Newt shift from foot to foot in the moonlit corridor.

“No, I do. I was a bloody asshole to ya and… Well, is there anywhere we could…? Go to talk?”

Thomas thought for a second. Nowhere was failsafe when it came to talking late at night. Walking around solo, making as little noise as possible, was a different story.

“How about in here?” he said eventually, pointing at the room he’d just exited.

“What room’s that?”

“My bedroom.”

Newt shrugged, and Thomas pushed the door open. With one person, it was small enough to be comfortable. With two, it was almost intimate. Thomas sat on his own bed, and Newt stood uncomfortably until Thomas sighed, and motioned towards him to sit on the bed.

“A while ago,” Newt started, “you said you wanted to know why I hate you so much. Truth is, I don’t. I’m jealous of you.”

Thomas opened his mouth, ready to let forth a stream of confusion and doubt, when Newt shook his head.

“I know ya probably don’t believe me, but it’s true. I just felt… I just feel so useless, y’know? You, you’re working your butt off to help people. To help the world through this bloody shit hole it’s dug itself into. And what am I doing? Sittin’ on my ever lovin’ ass every day, not doing a buggin’ thing. I couldn’t even-- I couldn’t do anything the other day. I’m here, safe and sound, and my family is…,

‘“I guess what I’m tryna say is, I don’t hate you, I hate me.”

Thomas stared at him, helplessness weighing his limbs down. When he didn’t say anything, Newt stood.

“Well, thanks for listening Tommy.” He turned to leave.

“Wait! You don’t have to. You don’t have to go. You could. Stay. Here.”

Newt’s eyes widened.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “I’ll stay.”

//

It became a tradition for Newt to sneak into Thomas’ room at night. They would stay up till the grey fingers of dawn poked through Thomas’ slit-like window, talking and laughing until they fell asleep (more often than not on each other’s shoulders).

Newt loved cheese. He owned a dog, and his older sister was named Grace. He revealed himself to Thomas one glowing conversation at a time until one night, two years later, there was only one thing left.

“Hey, Newt?”

“Mm?”

Thomas was lying next to him, drawing letters on his back.

“Newt, can I kiss you?”

Slowly, Newt rolled onto his side so he was facing Thomas. In answer, he leaned forward.

//

“We knew this was coming, Tommy,” Newt said calmly, as though he wasn’t shaking so much his teeth chattered. Thomas just squeezed his hand, shifting slightly on the pillow.

“I know. Newt, how the hell am I supposed to wait 2 years before I see you again?”

“Find a new religion,” Newt suggested, and Thomas rolled his eyes.

“You should sleep, idiot. You’re gonna need your strength tomorrow. It’ll be a draining day to say the least.”

“It bloody will be. Night, Tommy.”

“Night,” Thomas whispered.


End file.
